


Show You Something To Make You Change Your Mind

by stepantrofimovic



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Lack of Communication, M/M, So much angst, Temporary Character Death - Jack Harkness, but honestly it doesn't even come close to the show, episode tags for 1x05 to 1x08, many conversations about death, of course this is a specific tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/pseuds/stepantrofimovic
Summary: When it comes to telling the others who the last person he kissed was, Ianto lies.(Ianto and Jack, fromSmall WorldstoThey Keep Killing Suzie.)





	Show You Something To Make You Change Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> *arrives twelve years late with Starbucks* "What do you mean, _Children of Earth_?"
> 
> Seriously, though. I wrote this over six months ago, but never quite got around to publishing it because I'm fairly sure this fandom is dead and buried. But hey, this show makes me unbearably sad, and I like making other people sad when I feel like that, so here goes nothing.

When it comes to telling the others who the last person he kissed was, Ianto lies.

He doesn’t spare a glance for Jack as he says it was Lisa, not even acknowledging that someone in his audience knows that isn’t true. He achieves his immediate goal, of course – everyone's attention immediately shifts away from Gwen and Owen, Gwen herself being the first to apologise for bringing back bad memories. That’s the first reason why Ianto gave that answer, Jack knows – it was the one guaranteed to have the hardest impact on the others, to derail the conversation. Jack himself has – well, not outright lied, but misdirected, implied that there had been some alien creature. That failed its intended purpose of shocking the others into distraction, perhaps because they were expecting something of the sort, but Jack still can't deny that his plan, after all, was the same as Ianto’s.

Despite that knowledge, Ianto’s omission stings way more than it should.

***

It has barely been a week. A week since Estelle, since the fairies, since the day Jack returned to the Hub burdened with the knowledge that he’d let an innocent girl be snatched away. Killed, for all intents and purposes. If he ever had any doubt about what that meant, the horrified gazes that Gwen, Tosh, and even Owen had given him during the ride back from Old Forest Road provided the necessary reminder that in his team’s eyes, at least, murder was indeed the proper word for what he’d just done.

Still, he’d come back. And then he’d locked himself in his office, busying himself with not dealing with things.

He’d thought he was alone in the Hub when he poured the first drink. The whisky decanter had seen more use than customary in the last few days, but there was still enough left to get him properly drunk. He hoped so, at least.

He was mistaken about being alone, of course. The decanter is almost empty when someone knocks on his door. Mercilessly, Ianto lets himself in without waiting for Jack to give permission. A tired glance from Jack confirms that he didn’t even bring coffee.

“What happened out there?” he asks, choosing to stand in front of the seat Jack is slumped in. “Everyone else left and didn't want to tell me.”

He’s looking weary, Jack notices. There are circles under his eyes and a sallow tone to his naturally fair skin that speaks of missed nights of sleep and long days spent trudging through misery. Perhaps it’s that sight that pushes him to answer truthfully. Perhaps it’s just the whisky.

He tells Ianto the whole story, starting with the train in Lahore and ending with Jasmine. He doesn’t even skip his foolish promise to Estelle, that they would be together until they died. He doesn’t explain how they could have been what they were to each other, all those years ago, trusting Ianto to have figured out that something is going on with him, to know the truth better than the others.

His job description does include ‘archivist,’ after all.

He even tells Ianto what he didn’t tell Gwen, that he’s sure Estelle had understood it was him. That for all that time, she’d known he’d broken his promise, and still she’d let him stick around anyway.

Then again, what could she do? She’s old. Was.

He is telling these things to the man who called him a monster for shooting his girlfriend barely a month ago. The man who accused him, screaming through tears, of never having loved anyone.

“What choice did I have?” Jack asks, and for some reason Ianto’s answer matters more than anything else in the world, more than the accusations in the eyes of Tosh, Owen, even Gwen. “They had already won. Was there anything else I could have done?” _Am I a monster for thinking that there wasn’t?_

“No,” Ianto answers after a brief pause. “No, I would say there wasn’t.”

Jack shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t. A child is dead, for all intents and purposes, at least. _Estelle_ is dead, and that matters more to him than any unknown child, and isn’t that just the perfect snapshot of what he’s become. And it’s all on him. And he’s had barely enough whisky to dull the edges.

Ianto steps closer to Jack then, close enough to touch. “It does, a little. A lot. Matter, I mean.” His Welsh lilt sounds thicker from this distance, or maybe it’s the emotion clogging his voice that makes it seem so. “It did for Lisa, too. There was nothing else that could be done.” _Nothing else_ you _could have done._

Later, Jack will try to blame it on the drink, but that’s an especially thin lie. The truth is, Ianto is so close, so warm and human, despite his usual prim grace, and there’s a deep sadness in his eyes and his words sounded so close to _I forgive you_ , and Jack, Jack just cracks. For a few precious moments, he is not on Earth at all, nor in the twenty-first century, in a time and place where these gestures carry a meaning that sometimes he still struggles to recognise. No, he’s back on the Boeshane peninsula, it’s been too long since he’s last been intimate with another living creature, he’s sad, touch-starved and grieving, and Ianto has just forgiven him.

He stands up then, swaying just a little. The gesture brings him face to face with Ianto, who doesn’t even try to step back.

From there, it’s just a matter of closing the distance. Still, Jack does more, emphatically more than that, pressing Ianto backwards as he brings their mouths together. And Ianto, beautiful soft graceful Ianto, surges into the kiss himself, giving as good as he gets as Jack leads them both, stumbling, until Ianto’s shoulders hit the opposite wall. He’s trembling under Jack’s touch, his breath catching just so, and at some point his right hand has moved up to tangle in the hair at the back of Jack’s head, pinning him in place.

And then Ianto stops kissing back, and pushes Jack away as soon as he tries to lean in again.

“You’re drunk, Jack,” he mumbles, and Jack doesn’t find the voice to answer, _not nearly enough_. Then, almost as an afterthought: “And I don’t want this.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving Jack alone in his office, wishing for more alcohol to drown out the memory of Ianto’s words.

***

It’s barely been a week, and Ianto still says the last person he kissed was Lisa.

Ianto didn’t want that kiss, and even if he did, there is no reason for him not to lie to the others anyway, really. It gives him what he wants, defuses the situation, and it makes no sense for Jack to feel that specific mix of hurt and annoyance, but he still does. Which, of course, breeds anger and even more deep-set annoyance.

Anyway, Jack doesn’t get much time to dwell on it before Owen and Gwen find the body, and then someone steals the SUV, leading them to what will end up becoming one of the worst cases in Torchwood’s history, even though Jack would never believe it if someone told him now.

***

Someone or something is killing people in the village, Ianto and Tosh have gone off on their own (because _he_ sent them, never forget that this is also his responsibility), and Jack _has_ to believe that they will be fine, or he’ll lose what little levelheadedness he’s managed to maintain so far.

He tells Gwen that Ianto and Tosh can take care of themselves, again and again, trying to sound like he’s not trying to convince himself. Then she gets shot, and she stops asking.

When he finds the wounded man in the basement, some part of him starts piecing everything together even before the guy starts answering his questions. That’s what prompts him to dredge up the darkest parts of his past, to hurt the guy and, most importantly, terrify him into giving up what Jack wants.

When he finally does, Jack almost kills him. He can’t bring himself to feel ashamed for it. _They_ are in the village, and they must have Ianto, and Tosh, and probably Gwen and Owen by now, and there’s no way any of them is safe. It all depends on Jack now, and he can only hope he finds them quickly enough.

That’s why he spares the guy in the end – he doesn’t have the time.

He wonders who they’ll go for first, but he knows the answer. There are only two people on his team that would immediately try to attract attention away from the others, giving themselves up to gain what little advantage they could. And Gwen, if she indeed is in the hands of the villagers already, is wounded and has been a prisoner for a lot less than Ianto.

In the end, Jack steals a tractor, of all things, to get there in time. He doesn’t kill them, because Gwen is begging him not to and he can’t stand the look of horror in her eyes being directed at him, again. When he finally gets a proper look at Ianto’s bruised face, he starts to regret his choice.

He keeps regretting it throughout the drive back to the Hub, every time he hears Ianto shift in the seat next to him and catches him holding back a pained breath.

***

It takes less than he was expecting to convince the others to leave. Even Gwen seems eager to go back to something resembling normalcy, even if that means Rhys and a life where the things she has seen today don’t, can’t quite fit.

That leaves Jack alone in the Hub for the night. Alone but for Ianto, who didn’t say a word as the others were leaving. Jack didn’t either, but his wishes seem to be loud enough that Ianto is responding to them, since he didn’t leave either.

_And that’s your dose of wishful thinking for today_ , Jack tells himself.

That brings his thoughts back to Ianto, who is currently hanging around to one side of the main office space, still not speaking, almost-but-not-quite stooping sideways to favour what Jack has by now guessed is his most heavily bruised side.

_Well, here goes nothing_. He tries to at least bring out a pleasant tone, going for casual and missing by less than he was expecting. “And you, Ianto? Are you all right?”

Ianto shakes his head, and Jack can see that even that small movement must be painful by now. “Fine. Owen checked me, says I don't have a concussion.”

Dull anger flares up somewhere in Jack’s chest, and oh, that’s new. He smiles, all teeth. “And what did you tell him to convince him not to have a look at your ribs?”

“I told him they don’t hurt,” Ianto mumbles, still somehow managing to sound defiant.

Jack can’t help but scoff. “And he bought it?”

Ianto smiles back at that, and it’s so utterly brilliant and so _Ianto_ that Jack has to consciously hold himself back. “I am a good liar, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jack has to remind himself then that Ianto is very young, in all likelihood very scared, and that yelling at him is only going to make things worse in the long run.

“Take off your shirt,” he says through clenched teeth, doing his best to ignore the way Ianto complies without hesitating, without questioning what is basically an order to undress. “I’m going to have a look at your ribs,” he still adds, unnecessarily.

He leaves Ianto there, half naked ( _don’t think about it_ ), and goes to fetch supplies from Owen’s stash, ignoring the creepier things Owen insists on keeping in his drawers. When he comes back upstairs, Ianto is looking slightly more put together, if still obviously shirtless. Jack is suddenly struck by how out of place he looks, standing there in the middle of the Hub.

“Let’s go upstairs to my office, shall we?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Ianto complies, this time, but it’s so brief Jack might as well have imagined it. Just as he isn’t sure he hasn’t imagined the flash of gratitude that passes over Ianto’s features before he starts climbing the stairs.

***

Bruises are blossoming all over Ianto’s torso, a kaleidoscope of purple and yellow and green that looks entirely wrong on his pale skin. It rekindles a deep anger somewhere in Jack, a feeling that has already made more than a passing appearance today, and that makes it all too difficult to stop his hands from trembling while he meticulously checks Ianto’s ribs. (Two cracked, none broken, discounting the bruises, and Jack is _still_ regretting not killing all those people.)

He asks Ianto why they beat him up. His answer includes the word ‘tenderise’ in a context where Jack doesn’t ever want to hear it again. He starts so badly at that, he drops a roll of bandages and has to wrestle it back out from where it disappeared under his desk. Ianto almost-but-not-quite laughs, and Jack takes advantage of that pause to unclench his teeth as he stands up.

Ianto’s posture changes gradually as Jack works, his shoulders starting to droop with exhaustion. He looks smaller, younger, if that’s even possible, and there’s the slightest hitch to his breath that almost makes Jack worry about damage to his airways, until he realises what it means.

Seeing Ianto in this state sets off an unfamiliar kind of ache in Jack’s chest. It’s odd, he thinks. He’s not the one who’s hurting, after all, and empathy has never exactly been his strong suit. Still, he slows down his ministrations, keeping his touch as gentle as he can. He doesn’t linger, not exactly, but he lets his hands wander a bit more than it’s strictly necessary, brushing fingers over Ianto’s skin, soothing goosebumps and, wherever Ianto’s bruises allow him, digging in deep enough to loosen knotted muscle. It’s not sexual, not at all, but it’s intimate, and not for the first time Jack finds himself longing for another time, one when this kind of intimacy came easier. He barely notices when his own breath starts hitching in time with Ianto’s irregular inhales.

He misses home, and he wants Ianto to be okay, and he _wants_ Ianto, full stop. The feelings overlap, tangling into a confused mess along with his earlier anger at the people who put Ianto in this state. That, incidentally, includes Jack himself. In this state, it’s the best he can do to just focus on the feeling of Ianto’s skin, his wary, restrained movements, his scent that still carries traces of his fear and desperation from earlier.

Ianto’s breathing still hasn’t settled into a steady rhythm, Jack’s prodding at his bruised ribs certainly not helping. By way of apology, as he finishes wrapping his torso, he bows down and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss on Ianto’s shoulder, right at the junction where it meets the neck. It’s only when he feels Ianto suddenly stiffen under his hands that he recognises his mistake.

“Is this okay?” he asks, half breathless and hoping with all his might that Ianto trusts him to stop if he says _no_.

Ianto’s answer is immediate. “Yes,” he says.

Then, more quietly, just as Jack is taking advantage of his permission and kissing his neck again, “I don’t know.”

Jack immediately goes still, his lips barely brushing Ianto’s skin.

Ianto’s voice is strained as he speaks again, clearly struggling to push past tears. “I just, I just miss Lisa.”

He feels so young and vulnerable in Jack’s arms, and Jack wants nothing but to keep kissing him, soothe him until those tears disappear from his voice, until the slight hitch of pain in his breath is replaced by sounds of pleasure. At the same time, his earlier anger flares up, undulled, unfocused at anyone except himself.

He forces himself to not bodily push Ianto away, even as he steps back as quickly as he can. He still ends up all but leaping backwards, as if he’d been scalded.

“I think you can go home now,” he manages to say. And then, when Ianto doesn’t start moving straight away: “Please go.” He’s not proud of how quickly he says that, or of how strangled his voice comes out.

Ianto moves then, gathering his shirt and practically bolting out of Jack’s office. As soon as he’s gone, Jack gives in to the anger enough to let himself punch the wall. It's concrete, so he gets nothing but a set of bruised and bleeding knuckles. For some reason, that reminds him that, ironically enough, he’d been the only one who’d survived the day unscathed until now.

He checks that Ianto has left the Hub for good before he curls up in his hole in the floor and waits for sleep to desert him for one more night.

***

Weeks pass. Ianto and Jack are barely talking to each other – not at all if you exclude conversations where coffee is mentioned. It feels like their relationship is back to the time before Ianto’s plan was discovered, only colder and, perhaps, more honest. Neither of them mentions Lisa Hallett again, not even to the others.

Then Tosh gets a girlfriend. This isn’t exactly a shocker, at least to Jack.

Tosh’s girlfriend is a homicidal alien who plans to use her to get back her transport to her home planet, and then tear out her heart as a snack for the road.

This, Jack must admit, is marginally more surprising, but still sort of par for the course for a Torchwood employee, he assumes. The mind-reading device (necklace, he later learns), though, definitely isn’t.

As soon as he feels Tosh’s mind scrabbling vainly at his, Jack knows that clean-up for this specific case is going to be a right bitch. He doesn’t think about Ianto specifically, not yet. Later, he’ll tell himself that he should have.

***

Jack does what needs to be done to get rid of Tosh’s girlfriend (the _alien being_ that was planning to kill her, let’s not lose sight of the important bits). He ignores Tosh’s terrified, wounded look when he reveals that he reprogrammed the transporter. Most importantly, he avoids looking at Ianto. It makes little difference, as Tosh, merciless as she is, will later inform him that Ianto was begging him in his head not to do it _again_ , but this way, at least, he manages to do what needs to be done.

_Again_.

Afterwards, Tosh tells him other things. That Gwen and Owen are sleeping together is not much of a surprise either, no matter how shocked Tosh seems to be. If Jack is honest with himself, the things she saw in Ianto’s mind are even less unexpected.

“He’s hurting, Jack,” Toshiko says, and Jack has to convince himself that she wouldn’t appreciate it at all if he replied ‘duh.’ “I don’t know what we can do.”

Jack isn’t sure how him silently shaking his head in sympathy leads Tosh to the conclusion that _he_ should try talking to Ianto. On the other hand, that might have been what she was aiming for from the start. Sometimes, Jack can’t tell if Toshiko Sato is too insensitive or too shrewd for her own good.

***

In the end, it takes two days and a Rift alarm for them to finally have a conversation. It’s not the worst that could happen, considering Jack’s track record, he guesses.

Whatever or whoever has come out of the Rift tonight, they’re not stopping to talk, but heading out of town at a speed that suggests they have a vehicle. It’s just Ianto and Jack left in the Hub, because circumstances, in Jack’s experience, have a way of conspiring like that, so they both head running to the SUV. The next forty-five minutes or so are spent between Ianto monitoring the equipment and giving terse, precise directions, and Jack cutting through corners and driving them out of Cardiff at a speed that is generally not advisable unless _all_ occupants of the car are immortal beings.

They’re a good way out into the country when Ianto signals that the intruder has slowed down considerably and seems to be heading into a small village. True to fact, they find the wreckage of the vehicle near the road short after that. They forego the analyses for now, opting instead to park the SUV along the main road and head into the narrow streets on foot.

Their quarry (wrong word, Jack is adamant on that – they want to talk to him, not kill him) is not as fast as they are on foot, so the distance between them starts to narrow pretty quickly. When they catch sight of him, it’s of a humanoid being with some kind of fin-like appendages Jack doesn't recognise, as well as what looks like a gun, or equivalent. _Is_ a gun, Jack confirms, as the alien turns around to point it at his pursuers.

The first shot goes wide, the alien obviously needing time to adjust his aim while running on an unfamiliar terrain. It hits the building behind them with a low _boom_ that, Jack thinks, doesn’t bode well at all.

The second shot is aimed squarely at them. Without pausing to think, Jack sprints and pushes Ianto out of the trajectory, his own momentum leading him on to take Ianto’s place.

It turns out to be the smart choice, because the bullet discharges a strong electrical current as soon as it embeds itself in Jack’s shoulder. The last impression in his mind is a jolt of irrational panic as his heart shudders to a stop, along with the thought that this has always been one of his least favourite ways to die.

***

He is brought back to life by a second, familiar jolt of panic as his heart pumps away the excess adrenaline, and he wakes up to a familiar voice letting out a string of Welsh curses over his supine body. A second later, Jack corrects himself – not curses, insults. Considering the circumstances, it doesn’t feel self-centred to assume they’re directed at him.

He can’t help but grin as he opens his eyes. It must be infectious, because Ianto’s lips quirk up a little in response.

He stops cussing Jack out then, electing instead to cut off his first attempt at speaking with, “Before you try to give me any kind of bullshit, remember I’m officially your archivist. I know exactly how many times this has happened.”

“Believe me,” Jack tries to quip as Ianto offers him a hand to stand up, “most of them are off the record.” It comes out a lot weaker than he intended, with no help at all from the way his voice is shaking. Yeah, he really hates dying like this.

Their visitor, of course, has disappeared. By mutual agreement, they choose to accept defeat and retreat back to the SUV. When they get there, Jack makes a move towards the right-side door, but is stopped by the iciest glare a human being can summon. Meekly, he walks over to the passenger side, and they’re off back towards Cardiff.

***

Ianto sits unnervingly still as he drives, his hands never letting go of the steering wheel for a moment. In the silence, Jack starts to realise that what’s happened between them tonight might warrant an apology.

“Sorry I died on you earlier,” he finally says, when the silence becomes too long and too stilted. There have been less awkward conversation openers, he thinks sourly to himself.

Still, the way Ianto’s grip tightens on the wheel, his knuckles going white against the black leather, tells Jack that he’s hit upon the right topic, at least. “Hardly the first time,” Ianto mumbles, almost absent-mindedly.

Jack is about to point out that this _is_ technically the first time he’s died and come back to life on Ianto’s watch, but he catches himself, realising that this was definitely not what Ianto meant.

Fortunately for him, Ianto seems about as willing to pursue the topic further as Jack is. Instead, he chooses to ask the question that everyone asks at some point, the one to which Jack has learned to lie almost automatically. “Does it hurt, coming back?”

“Not really,” he says, and then, because he doesn’t want to mislead Ianto in the same way he does with everyone else: “It can be more or less painful, depending on how I died. This time, at least, there was nothing in my body that needs mending or building back – which means, correct me if I'm wrong, that I didn’t stay out for long.”

Ianto shakes his head, confirming Jack’s guess. “Does it take much energy? Do you need to eat?”

Jack smiles at that, because this one’s at least is a good question. “No, but thanks, I guess. It’s – it’s not something I do, so to speak. It’s something that happens to me, if you will.”

This time, Ianto nods as if he understood. “That’s what the previous reports suggested as well.”

“What else is in those?” The question, Jack reasons with himself, is justified by the need to explore how much Ianto knows. Nothing else.

“When asked how this came about, you usually say a friend did this to you, or some variation on this. Depending on how traumatic the death has been, you have sometimes been recorded implying it was a person you loved.” Ianto is still carefully not looking at Jack, eyes glued on the road in front of them. “There have also been a couple of instances where you mentioned something or someone called the Bad Wolf.”

“You won’t believe me,” Jack sighs, “if I say it’s all the same thing.”

There’s a touch of amusement in Ianto’s voice, thinly veiled by the expected disbelief. “You were in love with a bad wolf?”

And that’s it for this conversation, Jack finds out – he’s not ready to talk about Rose, or the Doctor, for that matter, not so soon after Canary Wharf, anyway. The obvious irony of using that as an excuse while talking to _Ianto_ , of all people, puts him in a bitter mood. “Leave it,” he bites back.

That leads to another few minutes of silence, this time broken by Ianto asking, “Did you ever do that – did you ever die thinking that this time you might not come back?”

Jack lets out a long, silent breath. “A few times.”

“When was the last?”

“About six weeks ago.” It’s kinder than _that time with the Cyberwoman_ , and he simply refuses to call her Lisa.

Ianto nods. “I thought so.” Then, after a short pause, “Is that why you kissed me?”

This time, Jack’s intake of breath is audible. He turns his head towards Ianto, who, for his part, still hasn’t taken his eyes off the road once. _Safety first_ , Jack thinks with more than a dash of annoyance.

“In part,” he finally answers.

Ianto’s fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel. “And the rest of it?” For the first time since they started this conversation, Jack can hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice.

_Well, at least we’re making some progress here._

“Would it make things much worse if I said it was meant as an apology?”

At that, Ianto scoffs, his head jerking to the side in a graceless, jerky movement that doesn’t suit him at all. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we don’t usually apologise by kissing people, around here.”

There’s a familiar hollowness in Jack’s chest that almost feels grounding in the face of this whole impossible exchange, and isn’t that deeply ironic. “You tell me. As the archivist, you must know I’m not exactly from _around here_.”

“Right,” Ianto spits back, sounding almost satisfied with himself. Jack decides to leave him to it, turning his head to the side to watch the road go by. They’re back in the outskirts of Cardiff by now, he notices.

Jack’s silence seems to leave the task of finding the most problematic icebreaker to Ianto, who chooses to open with, “How did Toshiko’s venture into your mind go? I assume she gave it a try.”

“Doesn’t mean she managed it.” Jack’s tone is carefully neutral, but it’s taking him more and more of an effort to keep it that way. He just wants Ianto to be done, for them to be back at the Hub. For this to stop. “Said she couldn’t pick up on anything.”

Thinking about Tosh’s comments threatens to send Jack’s mind to even darker places. He’s tried to convince himself that the reason why she wasn’t able to hear his thoughts has to do with him being from another time, another place, but the most likely explanation was plain in Toshiko’s own words. _Like you were dead_ , she said, and well, that wasn’t surprising at all, was it.

Either way, Jack’s answer makes Ianto nod curtly, as if some theory of his has just been confirmed. Perhaps it’s this that finally pushes Jack over the edge.

“She also said I should talk to you. About what she saw in yours.”

“But you haven’t. Talked to me, I mean.” As attempts at gaining the upper hand go, it’s not the most accomplished one.

“She told me you’re hurting.” He could be less blunt than this, but he isn’t about to make the effort, not today.

“Of course I am.” Ianto seems to have joined him in picking the bluntness route. “I am also other things, if you must know.”

“Such as?”

“Do you want to hear this, or are you just doing it because Tosh asked?”

Ianto’s tone, so close to a petulant teenager, wrestles a wry smile from Jack. “Can I say both?”

Once again, Ianto’s lips seem to quirk upwards in response against his will. When he speaks, however, his voice is cold, if shaking and a little halting.

He starts talking, and he just doesn’t stop.

“I am. Hurting, I mean. I have been since, since London, and now the loss of purpose, you might say, and well. Most mornings, I don’t even want to get out of bed. The other day, when Tosh read my mind, it was one of those days when just _moving around_ felt painful. I have those. Is that what you want to hear?”

A sharp intake of breath, but Jack doesn’t get to speak, not yet.

“Because it’s not all, and I can see you assuming it is, and it, it bothers me. Yes, I am hurting. I am also angry. At Lisa for being dead. At you, for shooting her.”

He seems to notice Jack preparing to interrupt again, to apologise, because he raises a hand to stop him. “That’s you and the others, by the way, not just you, Jack, don’t get too worked up. I feel guilty because I killed two people, or as good as killed them, because I refused to accept that Lisa –” his voice goes rougher on the name, and Jack would like to say he was surprised “– that Lisa was gone months ago. I’m angry at myself for that, obviously, but I am also angry at myself because I feel _grateful_ , of all goddamned things, grateful that you didn’t force me to kill her in the end, that it was you who did it. If you need to know, it didn’t feel like me against you in that moment, it felt like the team had my back, while my fucking girlfriend was getting shot and dying in the background, and if that isn’t messed up, then you can tell me what is, Jack.”

The tears in Ianto’s eyes are clear now, even from the passenger’s seat, but there is no way Jack is going to be able to stop the flow of words.

“And, to be honest, I’m also more than a little pissed at you, because you’re not talking to me, and I don’t understand what I did wrong. Is this because I said I miss Lisa? I do, of course I do, and it won’t stop – and she was the last person who, who touched me like that, before you did, I mean, so that, what you did, it brought things back. I’m not sorry about that, by the way, although sometimes I want to be, and that’s messed up again, but who cares by now?”

He lets out a teary laugh. “But I also want other things – and yes, some of them I might want with you, or really, I think I do want them with you, but it’s hard when you’re not even looking at me and instead you’re going all high-and-mighty and refusing to get mixed up with our petty, simple human emotions!”

Ianto’s voice goes high and brittle at the end, just this side of hysteric, which seems to embarrass him enough to shut him up. The rant has left him out of breath, his face flushed, lips parted. It’s a look that Jack would enjoy seeing on him, he muses distantly, in very different circumstances.

Right now, he just wants to scream.

Ianto slaps the palm of his hand down on the steering wheel once before he realises how ridiculous that looks, at least judging by the way his expression goes even more pinched and standoffish. It doesn’t matter, because Jack has not found the words to respond, not yet. They’re pulling into the Hub’s parking lot by now, which gives him a welcome, if short, respite as they get out of the car and head downstairs.

The Hub’s main hall lights up as they enter. Jack is used to seeing it empty like this, so it barely registers. It must be the same for Ianto, he reminds himself, after months looking after Lisa in secret.

The reminder that he didn’t notice anything for such a long time combines with the fresh realisation that he had no idea what was going on in Ianto’s mind in these past weeks, _again_. It seems that he’ll always need some sort of dramatic reveal to notice that. At least this one was less bloody.

He frowns, looking down at his ruined shirt and coat that will need mending. _Again._ Still, not that much blood. And no severed limbs, those are a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Ianto’s back. The younger man has taken a few steps into the Hub and then stopped, as if unsure what to do with the situation he has just created.

“It’s okay,” he says sullenly. “You didn’t know.”

_And there lies the problem_ , Jack thinks, almost dispassionately. Anything to keep the anger that’s still simmering in his chest at bay.

“No, I guess not.” He steps closer, resting a hand on Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto doesn’t move away, and Jack is grateful for that. He might fancy himself above all this, at times, but he’s taken enough failure and rejection in the past few weeks, especially from Ianto. “I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me,” he adds, tentatively.

Ianto’s small, sad, disbelieving smile is another punch in the gut. _God, he has fucked up._ Still, “Okay,” says Ianto, effectively leaving the floor to Jack again.

He takes a deep breath. He’s good at the talking thing – former con artist, more experience than anyone could possibly have, he prides himself on his smoothness. This is different. _Different_ seems to happen a lot, with this infuriating boy.

“I’d like to kiss you properly, at some point. Bring you to bed, if that’s, um, something you’re looking for in the future. I’m –” he wets his lips, suddenly conscious of Ianto’s gaze on his face “– looking forward to seeing you in that setting, as it were.” _Great, Jack. Very subtle._ He rolls his eyes at his own utter lack of eloquence.

Despite that, thus far he’s almost sure he’s been voicing Ianto’s desires at least as much as his own. What follows, however, is all his, and for the life of him he can’t predict what Ianto will think of it.

“However,” and he can feel Ianto’s back tense under his palm already, so he rubs soothing circles with his thumb, trying not to think about how monumentally he’s fucked up, “I would prefer if it was you who, who took the initiative, this time.” He shrugs, taking his hand off Ianto’s shoulder, even that small point of contact suddenly becoming too much. That alarms Ianto further, he can see it in his eyes as the boy turns his head to look at him. “It seems I’ve spent a lot of time not understanding what you thought, what you wanted. I’d prefer – I don’t want to do that anymore.”

He has to stop for a moment when he hears the cracks in his own voice. “So, you, uh, let me know. You know where to find me.” He flashes a smirk to go with that, but it feels tired to himself.

Ianto, for his part, tilts his head, searching for Jack’s eyes. “What if I told you I want it now?”

“Then I’d have to say no.” Jack looks away. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been sorry an awful lot, lately.”

He gives Ianto a bitter smile. “So it seems.”

Ianto shrugs, stepping away to put some distance between them. His tone when he speaks, however, is not unkind. “Makes you human, I guess.”

Five minutes later, Ianto is back at Jack’s door with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Jack smiles, accepting it as the peace offering it is.

***

Finding the name _Torchwood_ written in blood above two butchered bodies feels like a punch in the gut. More than that, it feels like an affirmation of everything Jack has tried not to let them become – the fear that they could be like London, like the Torchwood that was responsible for the death of Rose Tyler. For turning Lisa Hallet into a monster, Jack mentally adds, for the first time since Canary Wharf.

He tries to keep it under control, not to let the rest of the team see how it’s impacting him. He makes quips, holds his own against the police officer assigned to the case. She’s very attractive, obviously a testy character, and in different circumstances, Jack’s thoughts towards her would be so much more inappropriate.

They aren’t, however, not now. Some of his dark mood must be showing through after all, because the rest of the team gives him a wide berth as soon as they’re back at the Hub. The only exception is Ianto, who hasn’t even seen the crime scene, but now steps close enough to Jack that, in all casualness, he can brush the back of his hand against his.

It hits Jack then, how unspeakably grateful he is for Ianto just being there, being  _Ianto_. Later, as they go through the gruesome duty of reviving first the victims and then finally Suzie, of all people, as Gwen’s eyes grow increasingly frantic at each brush with something Jack knows too well, he’ll find himself resorting to that thought again and again. Every time he raises his eyes, Ianto is there with his stopwatch and a quip, a creative name, a lewd joke (the button on top, Ianto, really), a steady, _human_ presence throughout the horror.

Every time, Jack catches his eye and wonders whether some of his thoughts are showing through again, because Ianto regales him with a small smile more often than not. They still haven’t moved past their last conversation, but Jack can feel the growing hope, utterly out of place in Owen’s morgue and then again not, a simple human instinct to provide something that can contrast all the death that’s facing them.

_Later, perhaps_ , he thinks, as Ianto smiles and presses the button again.

***

They bring Suzie back, and she brings death, fear for Gwen’s life, and a promise of something coming through the darkness for Jack. _If only_ , Jack thinks, and he isn’t surprised to find out that he still has that feeling in him, after all these decades.

Then they’re back at the Hub, putting Suzie’s body _back_ into cold storage, and Jack is idly thinking that everything wrong with today’s events can be summed up by that adverb alone.

He looks at Ianto, and tries not to ask himself how he would have felt if it was him and not Gwen who had operated the Mitten. It’s not that the idea of Ianto being in mortal danger upsets him more than if it were anyone else, not really. He’s responsible for everyone on the team, after all, and he won’t lose any of them – not again, not after Suzie, his treacherous brain supplies, and here’s another reason why today has been torture, but with Suzie he can at least tell himself she betrayed them, twice now, and so it’s okay, somehow. At least, it’s not even close to the worst lie he tells himself on a daily basis.

Sometimes, he wonders if this is how the Doctor feels about the people he travels with. There have been hints that there were many other than Rose, and at least one more while Rose was on board. He wonders if there’s a distinction between those the Doctor feels responsible for and those who don’t matter. (He usually stops that train of thought once he starts asking himself where _he_ falls in that categorisation. It’s not like the Doctor came back for him, after all.)

Either way, it’s not as much about Ianto being in danger as it is about him staying somehow untouched by today’s specific brand of horror. Jack is aware it’s an illusion, of course, knows exactly how wide the share of death that Ianto has touched is. Today, however, Ianto has been Jack’s only beacon of sanity through the darkness – so much that, thinking about everything the boy has gone through just in the past couple of months, Jack is tempted to ask whether he’s expecting too much of him.

Ianto himself, however, seems determined to prove him wrong, whether he’s somehow picked up on Jack’s dark musings or, as Jack will tell himself to justify his own selfishness, he feels the same need to assert that they’re alive, that all of today’s death has not touched them. Either way, as Ianto makes innuendos about the many uses of a stopwatch and, most importantly, voices his own desires as clearly as Jack will ever need him to, Jack is more than happy to let himself be guided. Just as he’s more than happy to pick up the challenge to match Ianto’s creativity when it comes to pushing buttons in the bedroom, or rather in Jack’s hole in the floor, and then in the shower for another, messier round, as they help each other forget the darkness in the oldest way known to man.

Later that night, as he falls asleep with an arm thrown over Ianto's prone form, allowing free rein to his instinctive possessiveness for once, Jack finds himself thinking that that thing searching for him in the darkness had better wait a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m currently on Tumblr under [@proudbright](http://proudbright.tumblr.com/), rather than my usual URL.


End file.
